28 March 2008
What I'd Give Her
If I could give her anything, it would be this memory, untarnished and perfect, to carry with her always.
Her mother, lying on her back in the center of the state capitol, strange glances be damned, her father, holding her out above me, giving her wings to take flight, and her, (oh her), sweet and confident and the world her oyster, the sun streaming, making her view a magical scene, decorated with rainbows.
I would give it to her in a silver locket to carry upon her heart. She could open it when she stumbled upon darkness, and it would offer light. She could touch her hand to it when she felt cold, and it would offer warmth. When she felt lonely and afraid, it would gently comfort her in the knowledge that no matter where she wanders upon this earth, she is never alone.
The locket would be strung upon a silver strand, which defying logic or reason, would be made of the most fragile yet resilient material ever known. It would be flexible enough to move with her always, to be whatever she needed, and it would be strong enough to keep its own form. It would wrap itself around her shoulders and sometimes, in the quietest of moments, it would brush across her chest and whisper the secrets of my soul to her.
If I could give her anything, it would be that.